Sunday 24 May 2015, 12.01am HKT
M E N T A L I M P R E S S I O N S R E V I V E D
SOMEONE once told me:—
“When you’re in anger, you should sit down and start writing something. That usually calms a person down.”
I don’t think so.
However, the words that DO come flooding to mind are Are you deliberately stupid, or were you actually born this dumb?
The last time I checked, anyone who can actually sit down and start writing usually ISN’T ANGRY ENOUGH or isn’t farkin’ angry anymore. Stands to reason, doesn’t it?
Let’s get real for a sec.
Have you ever tried getting an angry person to sit down and calm down? You haven’t, have you? That’s why policemen in some countries are given firearms to give the ole’ two-in-stomach-one-in-head. Technically speaking.
Technically speaking too, some people deserve to get an extra round in the gonads.
This, my friends, probably does a better job calming someone down:—
“If you want gratitude, get a hamster,” so says the rat.
Hamsters are not rats.
Clack, clack, clickety-clack
Whilst on the subject of writing (in anger or not), I’m still terribly fond of a rather special brand of typewriter.
It’s the only make of typewriter that’s practically the analogue version of the personal computer.
It’s was until recently the only model of typewriter that North Korea bans from entering into that surrealistic feudal kingdom.
(North Korea has a longer hereditary rule than the current ruling family in the United Kingdom, by the way.)
La macchina da scrivere « Lettera 32 » con custodia
The Olivetti Lettera 32 typewriter with slipcase
Get the name right.
You say “L’Olivetti Lettera Trentadue” (lett’ra TREN-tah DOO-weh).
It’s not “Lettera Thirty-Two,” that’s for sure.
The Lettera Trentadue was very popular with journalists and students all over the world in the 1960s and ’70s. Use one and you’ll never want to use anything else (computers excepted).
I was around nine when Dad sponged his Trentadue to me. He bought himself a brand-new Trentadue because it’s more seemly for business appearances. Can’t argue with that.
1970s advertisement for the Trentadue
What’s a nine year old supposed to do with a portable typewriter???
Nothing. Just clack away for fun.
The whole idea behind Dad giving his Trentadue was for me to get used to the thing’s physical presence — having my own typewriter so that one day I’d be comfortable enough to learn touch typing.
Dad was a “one-finger trick” in typewriting with the occasional burst of double-fingered action, so I can relate to his idea.
Dad also said something about writing longhand was just a pointless waste of time — just do it on the typewriter, mistakes and all, mark up, and be done with it.
Dad’s Olivetti Letter 32, version 1963
All metal construction, except for the Bakelite keys
Dad was ultimately right.
Even today, despite our craptastic high technology, it’s still a great deal easier to type manually on index cards and sticky labels than fiddle for hours with computer printers.
I took the year-long Pitman’s Typewriting Course around 13 or 14 years old, and went on to do the full one-year Pitman’s Secretarial Course around 16.
Truth be told, I learnt better spelling, better writing, better English and French, had neater handwriting, and probably better chat-up lines with the birds from the secretarial classes than all of my years in normal school classes — or with the lads.
I wasn’t the only guy there, but the chicks did outnumber the studs 8 to 1. Can’t complain.
You jelly yet?
Nibbling snacks on pantyhoses
They’re all hot.
The secretarial teacher (Sue Rodwell) was hot.
Classmate Keren (“yes, that’s the correct spelling!”) was hot.
Wendy Marshall (“effs like a tiger”, so Paul Baker said) was hot.
That left “MS,” originally from Iran, two notches down the hawtness scale, but she was hot enough, boyo. Srsly.
For those who sniffs at anything adjectivally branded ‘secretarial’ — meaning they choose to be ignorant about it — they have no idea, no idea at all about the real world.
Secretarial is about the real world. It isn’t necessary to put on ‘academic’ airs.
“We’re training out secretaries and typist-clerks, not bloody scholars or nuns. We’re supposed to take dictation with the skirt up, wiggle our tits now and then, and then go home for the day. That could be a problem for you though, Robert.”
So it’s perfectly fine in class to nibble snacks, bring in drinks (usually non-alcoholic), gossip, and do other real-life stuff — like adjusting pantyhoses and bras and some other bits, which was often enough by the way. Sooner or later you get called up to help adjust the whatever.
Today, I can touch-type at 70 wpm, with bursts of 85 wpm when I’m paid. I’m sorry to say I’m still not built for skirts or tit-wiggling. My fault, I know, but I can’t help it.
Name’s a real larf
It was, I assure you.
You see, the Chinese name for Olivetti is 好利獲得, which is sanitised into the Mandarin “hào lì huò dé” or the Cantonese “ho lee waai dak.” Literally it says “to obtain good fortune/benefits.”
In reality, it was a completely different kettle of fish.
Olivetti the brand name coincided much, much more closely with 偶利吉帝 (orr lay gut daie) — an old, highly idiomatic Chinese phrase that defies translation but kind of means “pwned,” “self-pwnage,” “a lemon,” “a drip,” “orz,” “twerp” and “derp” all rolled into one.
So for much of the 1960s and the ’70s, Olivetti was nicknamed that way.
Actually, Olivetti did roaring business with Cantonese-speaking people because of that nickname more than anything else.
My Trentadue is long gone (stolen).
Right now, the only portable manual typewriter I own is an Underwood 315 made in former Czechoslovakia.
Still heavy and solid enough to maim anyone who recommends anyone mad should sit down and write something to calm down.
The Naked Listener
Images: Hamster via c4c | Olivetti Lettera 32 via iNetGiant | Olivetti advertisement in author’s collection | Chicks outnumber 8 to 1 via Imgur | Secretary taking dictation via AllPosters.com | Underwood 315 typewriter via Wanjas Vardagsrum.
Sunday 17 May 2015, 12.01am HKT
T I M E O F M Y L I F E
6.33am local time, Fri 15 May 2015, air conditioner on (20°C, 68°F)
LET’S go into the Time Tunnel for a bit today.
At the Temple of Apollo (actually northwest London), we replied in our good old English tongue merely to convince ourselves that none of us could understand each other; but I noticed that when I smiled slightly on concluding, others did likewise. This fact, and the similar occurrences of our lives, made us unable to resist the temptation to leave. The crisp, freshly polluted air of the town air outside the cave acted as an immediate tonic, and I felt a new life and new courage coursing through me.
School, London, 1970s (Photo: Michael Arthy)
Smack in the coveted front row, behind the schoolmasters and schoolmistresses (as we used to call teachers then).
We used to do this (on and off, whenever we’re in the mood):—
British school life had a longish ‘tradition’ of getting students considered good in certain subjects to stand behind that subject’s teacher even though the student never took the subject. So a chemistry and biology major like me stood behind Mr Gerald Shuster, a novelist and our History and Politics schoolmaster, because somehow I was considered ‘good’ in them. WTF, right?
From this fine young thing…
Yours truly, 14 years old, London, 1970s
It took me a long, long time to get locate the picture. It is a crying shame that the UK never had that fine American tradition of school yearbooks, which would have made life miles easier.
Two or three years after this picture was taken, some chick in Lancashire in the northwest of England gave me the handle “The Naked Listener.” So now you know.
… to this excuse:
Yours truly today … what a rusted-up c*unt of a loudmouth
It is true — the nose has remained the same.
Let that be a lesson to you all.
The Naked Listener
All images © thenakedlistener, 2015. All Rights reserved.